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kAI'ri CpfHEPRJ'Li 


T T ! TR 









" Lor\ miss !^^ said Farmer Hendry ^ ^^ he ha'vent 
been pastured there for three iveeks'''' 













Al was first published in /c?pj, ap- 
pearing in a volume with " Penel- 
ope's English Experiences y In course of 
timCy the latter story ^ finding unexpected 
favor in the public eyes^ left its modest com- 
paniony and was promoted to a separate ex- 
istencCy with pictures and covers of its own. 
Then something rather curious occurred; one 
of those trifles which serve to make a publish- 
er s life an exciting^ if not a happy one. 
When the ^^ gentle reader " {bless his or her 
warm and irrational heart !) could no longer 
buy " A Cathedral Courtships' a new desire 
for it sprang into beings and when the de- 
mands became sufliciently ardent and numer- 
ous^ it was decided to re-publish the story ^ 


with illustrations by Mr. Charles E. Brocky 
an artist who can be relied upon to put new 
energy into a live tale or resuscitate a dead 

At this point the author ^ having pre- 
sumably grown in knowledge of grammar ^ 
spellings and punctuation^ was asked to revise 
the texty andy being confronted with the 
printed page y was overcome by the desire to 
add now and then a sentencCy lincy or para- 
graph. Neither did temptation proceed en- 
tirely from withiny for the charming shade 
of Miss Kitty Schuyler perched on every ex- 
clamation pointy begging permission to say a 
trifle y just a trifle y more. 

" You might allow me to explain myself 
just there y'' she coaxed; ^^ and if you have 
told them everything I was supposed to be 
thinking in Winchester or Salisbury or Ox- 
fordy why not tell them what I thought in 
Bath or Peterborough or Ely ? It was 
awfully interesting ! " 


Jack Copley^ too^ clamored to be heard 
still further on the subject of his true-love s 
charms^ so the author yielded to this twofold 
pressure^ and added a few corroborative 

"The little courtships running its placid 
course through sleepy cathedral towns^ has 
not been altered in the least by these new 
pages. It is only as if the story-teller ^ meet- 
ing a new pair of interested eyes^ had almost 
unconsciously drifted into fresh confidences. 

This is all quite true^ just as she says^ and any- 
way^ we have said nothing that we are a hit 
ashamed of 




Their mark. 
London, July, 1 901. 




" Lor', miss! " said Farmer Hendry, " he 
have n't been pastured here for three 
weeks" (Page lOi) . Frontispiece 

" It would 'ardly be a substitute for goose- 
berry-tart, miss " 8 

I offered it to her with distinguished grace 26 

I was disconcerted at being found in a 

dramshop alone 34 

She ignores the babble of contemporaneous 

lovers 68 

" Jack ! Jack ! save me ! " 94 



Winchester, May 28, , 

The Royal Garden Inn. 

WE are doing the English cathedral 
towns, Aunt Celia and I. Aunt 
Celia has an intense desire to improve 
my mind. Papa told her, when we were 
leaving Cedarhurst, that he would n't for 
the world have it too much improved, 
and Aunt Celia remarked that, so far as 
she could judge, there was no immediate 
danger ; with which exchange of hostili- 
ties they parted. 

We are traveling under the yoke of an 
iron itinerary, warranted neither to bend 
nor break. It was made out by a young 


High Church curate in New York, and if 
it were a creed, or a document that had 
been blessed by all the bishops and popes, 
it could not be more sacred to Aunt Celia. 
She is awfully High Church, and I believe 
she thinks this tour of the cathedrals will 
give me a taste for ritual and bring me into 
the true fold. Mamma was a Unitarian, 
and so when she was alive I generally at- 
tended service at that church. Aunt Celia 
says it is not a church ; that the most you 
can say for it is, that it is a " belief," rather 
loosely and carelessly formulated. She 
also says that dear old Dr. Kyle is the most 
dangerous Unitarian she knows, because 
he has leanings towards Christianity. Long 
ago, in her youth. Aunt Celia was engaged 
to a young architect. He, with his tri- 
angles and T-squares and things, succeeded 
in making an imaginary scale-drawing of 
her heart (up to that time a virgin forest, 
an unmapped territory), which enabled 


him to enter in and set up a pedestal 
there, on which he has remained ever 
since. He has been only a memory for 
many years, to be sure, for he died at the 
age of twenty-six, before he had had time 
to build anything but a livery stable and 
a country hotel. This is fortunate, on the 
whole, because Aunt Celia thinks he was 
destined to establish American architecture 
on a higher plane, rid it of its base, time- 
serving, imitative instincts, and waft it to 
a height where, in the course of centuries, 
it would have been revered and followed 
by all the nations of the earth. 

I went to see the stable, after one of 
these Miriam-like flights of prophecy on 
the might-have-been. It is n't fair to judge 
a man's promise by one modest perform- 
ance, and so I shall say nothing, save that 
I am sure it was the charm of the man 
that won my aunt's affection, not the 
genius of the builder. 


This sentiment about architecture and 
this fondness for the very toppingest High 
Church ritual cause Aunt Celia to look 
on the English cathedrals with solemnity 
and reverential awe. She has given me a 
fat note-book, with " Katharine Schuyler " 
stamped in gold letters on the Russia- 
leather cover, and a lock and key to 
conceal its youthful inanities from the 
general public. I am not at all the sort 
of girl who makes notes, and I have told 
her so ; but she says that I must at least 
record my passing impressions if they are 
ever so trivial and commonplace. She 
also says that one's language gains uncon- 
sciously in dignity and sobriety by being 
set down in black and white, and that a 
liberal use of pen and ink will be sure to 
chasten my extravagances of style. 

I wanted to go directly from South- 
ampton to London with the Abbotts, our 
ship friends, who left us yesterday. Rod- 


erick Abbott and I had had a charming 
time on board ship (more charming than 
Aunt Celia knows, because she was very- 
ill, and her natural powers of chaperoning 
were severely impaired), and the prospect 
of seeing London sights together was not 
unpleasing ; but Roderick Abbott is not 
in Aunt Celia's itinerary, which reads : 
" Winchester, Salisbury, Bath, Wells, 
Gloucester, Oxford, London, Ely, Peter- 
borough, Lincoln, York, Durham." 
These are the cathedrals Aunt Celia's 
curate chose to visit, and this is the order 
in which he chose to visit them. Canter- 
bury was too far east for him, and Exeter 
was too far west, but he suggests Ripon 
and Hereford if strength and time permit. 
Aunt Celia is one of those persons who 
are bom to command, and when they are 
thrown in contact with those who are bom 
to be commanded all goes as merry as a 
marriage bell ; otherwise not 


So here we are at Winchester; and I 
don't mind all the Roderick Abbotts in the 
universe, now that I have seen the Royal 
Garden Inn, its pretty coffee-room opening 
into the old-fashioned garden, with its 
borders of clove pinks, its aviaries, and 
its blossoming horse-chestnuts, great tower- 
ing masses of pink bloom. 

Aunt Celia has driven to St. Cross 
Hospital with Mrs. Benedict, an estimable 
lady tourist whom she " picked up " en 
route from Southampton. I am tired, and 
stayed at home. I cannot write letters, 
because Aunt Celia has the guide-books, 
so I sit by the window in indolent content, 
watching the dear little school laddies, 
with their short jackets and wide white 
collars ; they all look so jolly, and rosy, 
and clean, and kissable. I should like to 
kiss the chambermaid, too. She has a 
pink print dress, noYringe, thank goodness 
(it 's curious our servants can't leave that 


deformity to the upper classes), but shin- 
ing brown hair, plump figure, soft voice, 
and a most engaging way of saying, " Yes, 
miss? Anythink more, miss?" I long 
to ask her to sit down comfortably and 
be English while I study her as a type, 
but of course I must n't. Sometimes I 
wish I could retire from the world for a 
season and do what I like, " surrounded 
by the general comfort of being thought 

An elegant, irreproachable, high-minded 
model of dignity and reserve has just 
knocked and inquired what we will have 
for dinner. It is very embarrassing to give 
orders to a person who looks like a Justice 
of the Supreme Court, but I said lan- 
guidly : — 

" What would you suggest ? " 

" How would you like a clear soup, a 
good spring soup, to begin with, miss ? " 

" Very much." 



"And a bit of turbot next, miss, with 
anchovy sauce ? " 

" Yes, turbot, by all means," I said, my 
mouth watering at the word. 

"And what else, miss? Would you 
enjoy a young duckling, miss, with new 
potatoes and green peas ? " 

" Just the thing ; and for dessert " — I 
could n't think what I ought to order next 
in England, but the high-minded model 
coughed apologetically, and, correcting my 
language, said: — 

" I was thinking you might like goose- 
berry-tart and cream for a sweet, miss." 

Oh that I could have vented my New 
World enthusiasm in a sigh of delight as 
I heard those intoxicating words, hereto- 
fore met only in English novels ! 

" Ye — es," I said hesitatingly, though 

I was palpitating with joy, " I fancy we 

should like gooseberry-tart " (here a bright 

idea entered my mind) ; " and perhaps, in 



'// ivould '' ardly he a substitute 

for gooseberry-tart J miss " 


case my aunt does n't care for the goose- 
berry-tart, you might bring a lemon-squash, 

Now, I had never met a lemon-squash 
personally, but I had often heard of it, and 
wished to show my familiarity with British 
culinary art. 

" It would 'ardly be a substitute for 
gooseberry-tart, miss ; but shall I bring one 
lemon-squash, miss?" 

"Oh, as to that, it does n't matter," I said 
haughtily ; " bring a sufficient number for 
two persons." 

Aunt Celia came home in the highest 
feather. She had twice been mistaken for 
an Englishwoman. She said she thought 
that lemon-squash was a drink ; I thought, 
of course, it was a pie ; but we shall find 
out at dinner, for, as I said, I ordered a 
sufficient number for two persons, and the 
head-waiter is not a personage who will 


let Transatlantic ignorance remain unin- 

At four o'clock we attended evensong 
at the cathedral. I shall not say what I 
felt when the white-surpliced boy choir en- 
tered, winding down those vaulted aisles, 
or when I heard for the first time that in- 
toned service, with all its " witchcraft of 
harmonic sound." I sat quite by myself 
in a high carved-oak seat, and the hour 
was passed in a trance of serene delight. 
I do not have many opinions, it is true, 
but papa says I am always strong on sen- 
timents ; nevertheless, I shall not attempt 
to tell even what I felt in these new and 
beautiful experiences, for it has been bet- 
ter told a thousand times. 

There were a great many people at ser- 
vice, and a large number of Americans 
among them, I should think, though we 
saw no familiar faces. There was one par- 
ticularly nice young man, who looked like 



a Bostonian. He sat opposite me. He 
did n't stare — he was too well bred, but 
when I looked the other way he looked at 
me. Of course, I could feel his eyes ; any- 
body can — at least, any girl can ; but I 
attended to every word of the service, and 
was as good as an angel. When the pro- 
cession had filed out, and the last strain of 
the great organ had rumbled into silence, 
we went on a tour through the cathedral, 
a heterogeneous band, headed by a consci- 
entious old verger, who did his best to en- 
lighten us, and succeeded in virtually spoil- 
ing my pleasure. 

After we had finished (think of " finish- 
ing " a cathedral in an hour or two !), Aunt 
Celia and I, with one or two others, wan- 
dered through the beautiful close, looking 
at the exterior fi-om every possible point, 
and coming at last to a certain ruined arch 
which is very famous. It did not strike 
me as being remarkable. I could make 


any number of them with a pattem with- 
out the least effort. But, at any rate, when 
told by the verger to gaze upon the beau- 
ties of this wonderful relic and tremble, we 
were obliged to gaze also upon the beau- 
ties of the aforesaid nice young man who 
was sketching it. 

As we turned to go away, Aunt Celia 
dropped her bag. It was one of those de- 
testable, all-absorbing, all-devouring, thor- 
oughly respectable, but never proud, Bos- 
ton bags, made of black cloth with leather 
trimmings, " C. Van T." embroidered on 
the side, and the top drawn up with stout 
cords which pass over the Boston wrist or 
arm. As for me, I loathe them, and would 
not for worlds be seen carrying one, though 
I do slip a great many necessaries into 
Aunt Celia's. 

I hastened to pick up the horrid thing, 
for fear the nice young man would feel 
obliged to do it for me ; but, in my indeco- 



rous haste, I caught hold of the wrong end, 
and emptied the entire contents on the 
stone flagging. Aunt Celia didn't notice ; 
she had turned with the verger, lest she 
should miss a single word of his inspired 
testimony. So we scrambled up the ar- 
ticles together, the nice young man and I ; 
and oh, I hope I may never look upon his 
face again ! 

There were prayer-books and guide- 
books, a Bath bun, a bottle of soda mint 
tablets, a church calendar, a bit of gray 
frizz that Aunt Celia pins into her cap 
when she is traveling in damp weather, a 
spectacle-case, a brandy-flask, and a bon- 
bon-box, which broke and scattered cloves 
and peppermint lozenges. (I hope he 
guessed Aunt Celia is a dyspeptic, and not 
intemperate !) All this was hopelessly vul- 
gar, but I would n't have minded anything 
if there had not been a Duchess novel. Of 
course he thought that it belonged to me. 


He could n't have known Aunt Celia was 
carrying it for that accidental Mrs. Bene- 
dict, with whom she went to St. Cross 

After scooping the cloves out of the 
cracks in the stone flagging — and, of 
course, he needn't have done this, unless 
he had an abnormal sense of humor — he 
handed me the tattered, disreputable-look- 
ing copy of " A Modem Circe " with a 
bow that would n't have disgraced a Ches- 
terfield, and then went back to his easel, 
while I fled after Aunt Celia and her ver- 

• •••••• 

Memoranda : The Winchester Cathedral 
has the longest nave. "The inside is more 
superb than the outside. Izaak Walton and 
Jane Austen are buried here. 




Winchester, May 28. 

The White Swan. 

AS sure as my name is Jack Copley, I 
saw the prettiest girl in the world 
to - day — an American, too, or I am 
greatly mistaken. It was in the cathe- 
dral, where I have been sketching for sev- 
eral days. I was sitting at the end of a 
bench, at afternoon service, when two 
ladies entered by the side -door. The 
ancient maiden, evidently the head of the 
family, settled herself devoutly, and the 
young one stole off by herself to one of 
the old carved seats back of the choir. 
She was worse than pretty! I made a 
memorandum of her during service, as 
she sat under the dark carved-oak can- 
opy, with this Latin inscription over her 
head : — 



Carlton cum 



ix solidorum 

Super Flumina 

Confitebor tibi 

DiJc probati 

There ought to be a law against a 
woman's making a picture of herself, un- 
less she is willing to allow an artist to " fix 
her " properly in his gallery of types. 

A black-and-white sketch does n't give 
any definite idea of this charmer's charms, 
but sometime I '11 fill it in — hair, sweet 
little hat, gown, and eyes, all in golden 
brown, a cape of tawny sable slipping off 
her arm, a knot of yellow primroses in her 
girdle, carved-oak background, and the 
afternoon sun coming through a stained- 
glass window. Great Jove ! She had a 
most curious effect on me, that girl ! I 
can't explain it — very curious, altogether 
new, and rather pleasant. When one of 


the choir-boys sang " Oh for the wings of 
a dove ! " a tear rolled out of one of her 
lovely eyes and down her smooth brown 
cheek. I would have given a large portion 
of my modest monthly income for the fe- 
licity of wiping away that teardrop with 
one of my new handkerchiefs, marked with 
a tremendous " C " by my pretty sister. 

An hour or two later they appeared 
again — the dragon, who answers to the 
name of" Aunt Celia," and the " nut-brown 
mayde," who comes when she is called 
"Katharine." I was sketching a ruined 
arch. The dragon dropped her unmis- 
takably Boston bag. I expected to see 
encyclopaedias and Russian tracts fall from 
it, but was disappointed. The " nut-brown 
mayde " (who has been trained in the way 
she should go) hastened to pick up the bag 
for fear that I, a stranger, should serve her 
by doing it. She was punished by turning 
it inside out, and I was rewarded by help- 


ing her gather together the articles, which 
were many and ill-sorted. My little ro- 
mance received the first blow when I found 
that she reads the Duchess novels. I think, 
however, she has the grace to be ashamed 
of it, for she blushed scarlet when I handed 
her "A Modern Circe." I could have 
told her that such a blush on such a cheek 
would almost atone for not being able to 
read at all, but I refrained. It is vexatious 
all the same, for, though one doesn't ex- 
pect to find perfection here below, the 
" nut-brown mayde," extemally considered, 
comes perilously near it. After she had 
gone I discovered a slip of paper which 
had blown under some stones. It proved 
to be an itinerary. I did n't return it. I 
thought they must know which way they 
were going ; and as this was precisely what 
I wanted to know, I kept it for my own 
use. She is doing the cathedral towns. I 
am doing the cathedral towns. Happy 


thought ! Why should n't we do them 
together — we and Aunt Celia? A fel- 
low whose mother and sister are in Amer- 
ica must have some feminine society ! 

I had only ten minutes to catch my 
train for Salisbury, but I concluded to run 
in and glance at the registers of the princi- 
pal hotels. Found my nut-brown mayde 
at once in the guest-book of the Royal 
Garden Inn : " Miss Celia Van Tyck, 
Beverly, Mass., U. S. A. Miss Katharine 
Schuyler, New York, U. S. A." I con- 
cluded to stay over another train, ordered 
dinner, and took an altogether indefensi- 
ble and inconsistent pleasure in writing 
"John Quincy Copley, Cambridge, Mass.," 
directly beneath the charmer's autograph. 




Salisbury, June i. 

The White Hart Inn. 

WE left Winchester on the i.i6 train 
yesterday, and here we are within 
sight of another superb and ancient pile of 
stone. I wanted so much to stop at the 
Highflyer Inn in Lark Lane, but Aunt 
Celia said that if we were destitute of per- 
sonal dignity, we at least owed something 
to our ancestors. Aunt Celia has a tem- 
peramental distrust of joy as something 
dangerous and ensnaring. She doesn't 
realize what fun it would be to date one's 
letters ftom the Highflyer Inn, Lark Lane, 
even if one were obliged to consort with 
poachers and trippers in order to do it. 

Better times are coming, however, for 
she was in a melting mood last evening, 



and promised me that wherever I can find 
an inn with a picturesque and unusual 
name, she will stop there, provided it is 
clean and respectable, if I on my part will 
agree to make regular notes of travel in 
my Russia-leather book. She says that 
ever since she was my age she has asked 
herself nightly the questions Pythagoras 
was in the habit of using as a nightcap : — 

" What have I learned that 's worth the knowing ? 
What have I done that 's worth the doing ? 
What have I sought I should have shunned, 
And into what new follies run ? " 

I asked her why Pythagoras did n't say 
" runned " and make a consistent rhyme, 
and she evaded the point by answering 
that Pythagoras did n't write it in English. 

We attended service at three. The 
music was lovely, and there were beauti- 
ful stained-glass windows by Burne-Jones 
and Morris. The verger (when wound up 
with a shilling) talked like an electric 



doll. If that nice young man is making 
a cathedral tour like ourselves, he isn't 
taking our route, for he is n't here. If he 
has come over for the purpose of sketch- 
ing he would n't stop with one cathedral, 
unless he is very indolent and unambitious, 
and he does n't look either of these. 

Perhaps he began at the other end, and 
worked down to Winchester. Yes, that 
must be it, for the Ems sailed yesterday 
from Southampton. Too bad, for he was 
a distinct addition to the landscape. Why 
did n't I say, when he was picking up the 
collection of curios in Aunt Celia's bag, 
" You need n't bother about the novel, 
thank you ; it is not mine, of course, but 
in any event it is not worth keeping." 

June 2. 
We intended to go to Stonehenge this 
morning, but it rained, so we took a 
" growler " and went to the Earl of Pem- 



broke's country place to see the pictures. 
Had a delightful morning with the magni- 
ficent antiques, bronzes, and portraits. The 
Van Dyck room is a joy forever ; but one 
really needs a guide or a friend who knows 
something of art if one would understand 
these things. There were other visitors ; 
nobody who looked especially interesting. 
Don't like Salisbury so well as Winchester. 
Don't know why. We shall drive this 
afternoon, if it is fair, and go to Bath and 
Wells to-morrow, I am glad to say. Must 
read Baedeker on the Bishop's palace. 
Oh, dear ! if one could only have a good 
time and not try to know anything ! 

Memoranda: "This cathedral has the 
highest spire. Remember : Winchester ^ 
longest nave ; Salisbury, highest spire. 

T*he Lancet style is those curved lines 

meeting in a rounding or a sharp point like 

this r^ /\y and then joined together like 

this \/^\y\J ^ the way they scallop 



babies' flannel petticoats. Gothic looks like 
triangles meeting together in various spots 
and joined with beautiful sort of orna^ 
mented knobs. I think I recognize Gothic 
when I see it. Then there is Norman^ 
Early English^ fully developed Early Eng- 
lish^ Early and Late Perpendicular^ Tran- 
sition^ and^ for aught I knoWy a lot of others. 
Aunt Celia can tell them all apart. 




Salisbury, June 3, 

The Red Lion. 

I WENT off on a long tramp this after- 
noon, and coming on a pretty river 
flowing through green meadows, with a 
fringe of trees on either side, I sat down 
to make a sketch. I heard feminine voices 
in the vicinity, but as these are generally 
a part of the landscape in the tourist sea- 
son, I paid no special notice. Suddenly a 
dainty patent-leather shoe floated towards 
me on the surface of the stream. It evi- 
dently had just dropped in, for it was 
right side up with care, and was disporting 
itself most merrily. '^ Did ever Jove's tree 
drop such fruit ? " I quoted as I fished it 
out on my stick ; and just then I heard a 
distressed voice saying, " Oh, Aunt Celia, 


I 've lost my smart little London shoe. I 
was sitting in a tree taking a pebble out 
of the heel, when I saw a caterpillar, and 
dropped it into the river — the shoe, you 
know, not the caterpillar." 

Hereupon she came in sight, and I 
witnessed the somewhat unusual spectacle 
of my nut-brown mayde hopping, like a 
divine stork, on one foot, and ever and 
anon emitting a feminine shriek as the 
other, clad in a delicate silk stocking, came 
in contact with the ground. I rose quickly, 
and, polishing the patent leather ostenta- 
tiously inside and out with my handker- 
chief, I offered it to her with distinguished 
grace. She sat hurriedly down on the 
ground with as much dignity as possible, 
and then, recognizing me as the person who 
picked up the contents of Aunt Celia's bag, 
she said, dimpling in the most distracting 
manner (that 's another thing there ought 
to be a law against) : 


/ offered it to her 

icith distinguished grace 


" Thank you again ; you seem to be a 
sort of knight-errant." 

"Shall I — assist you?" I asked. I 
might have known that this was going too 
far. Of course I did n't suppose she would 
let me help her put the shoe on, but I 
thought — upon my soul, I don't know 
what I thought, for she was about a mil- 
lion times prettier to-day than yesterday. 

"No, thank you," she said, with polar 
frigidity. " Good-afteraoon." And she 
hopped back to her Aunt Celia without 
another word. 

I don't know how to approach Aunt 
Celia. She is formidable. By a curious 
accident of feature, for which she is not in 
the least responsible, she always wears an 
unfortunate expression as of one perceiv- 
ing some offensive odor in the immediate 
vicinity. This may be a mere accident of 
high birth. It is the kind of nose often 
seen in the " first families," and her name 


betrays the fact that she is of good old 
Knickerbocker origin, despite her resem- 
blance to the typical Boston spinster, who 
has lately been defined as a woman with 
spectacles, bag, and a purpose. We go 
to Wells to-morrow — at least, I think 
we do. 




Salisbury, June 3. 

I DID N'T like Salisbury at first, but I 
find it is the sort of place that grows 
on one the longer one stays in it. I am 
quite sorry we must leave so soon, but 
Aunt Celia is always in haste to be gone. 
We had a charming walk this aftemoon 
and found the outskirts of Salisbury most 
beautiful. Bath may be interesting, but 
it is entirely out of the beaten path from 
here. Not that it matters. 




Bath, June 7. 

The Best Hotel. 

I MET him at Wells and again this 
afternoon here. We are always being 
ridiculous, and he is always rescuing us. 
Aunt Celia never really sees him, and thus 
never recognizes him when he appears 
again, always as the flower of chivalry and 
guardian of ladies in distress. I will never 
again travel abroad without a man, even if 
I have to hire one from a feeble-minded 
asylum. We work like galley-slaves, 
Aunt Celia and I, finding out about trains 
and things. Neither of us can understand 
Bradshaw, and I can't even grapple with 
the lesser intricacies of the ABC Railway 
Guide. The trains, so far as I can see, 
always arrive before they go out, and I 


can never tell whether to read up the page 
or down. It is certainly very queer that 
the stupidest man that breathes, one that 
barely escapes idiocy, can disentangle a 
railway guide when the brightest woman 
fails. Even the boots at the inn in Wells 
took my book, and, rubbing his frightfully 
dirty finger down the row of puzzling fig- 
ures, found the place in a minute, and said, 
" There ye are, miss." It is very humili- 
ating. I suppose there are Bradshaw pro- 
fessorships in the English universities, but 
the boots cannot have imbibed his know- 
ledge there. A traveler at table cThote din- 
ner yesterday said there are three classes 
of Bradshaw trains in Great Britain : those 
that depart and never arrive, those that ar- 
rive, but never depart, and those that can be 
caught in transit, going on, like the wheel 
of etemity, with neither beginning nor end. 
All the time I have left fi-om the study of 
routes and hotels I spend on guide-books. 


Now, I 'm sure that if any one of the men 
I know were here, he could tell me all that 
is necessary as we walk along the streets. 
I don't say it in a frivolous or sentimental 
spirit in the least, but I do afSrm that there 
is hardly any juncture in life where one 
is n't better off for having a man about. I 
should never dare divulge this to Aunt 
Celia, for she does n't think men very nice. 
She excludes them from conversation as if 
they were indelicate subjects. 

But to go on, we were standing at the 
door of Ye Crowne and Keys at Wells, 
waiting for the fly which we had ordered 
to take us to the station, when who should 
drive up in a four-wheeler but the flower 
of chivalry. Aunt Celia was saying very 
audibly, " We shall certainly miss the train, 
if the man does n't come at once." 

" Pray take this cab," said the flower of 
chivalry. " I am not leaving for an hour 
or more." 



Aunt Celia got in without a murmur ; I 
sneaked in after her, not daring to lift my 
eyes. I don't think she looked at him, 
though she did vouchsafe the remark that 
he seemed to be a civil sort of person. 

I was walking about by myself this 
afternoon. Aunt Celia and I had taken a 
long drive, and she had dropped me in a 
quaint old part of the town that I might 
have a brisk walk home for exercise. Sud- 
denly it began to rain, which it is apt to do 
in England, between the showers, and at 
the same moment I espied a sign, " Mar- 
tha Huggins, Licensed Victualer." It 
was a nice, tidy little shop, with a fire on 
the hearth and flowers in the window, and 
I thought no one would catch me if I 
stepped inside to chat with Martha until 
the sun shone again. I fancied it would 
be delightful and Dickensy to talk quietly 
with a licensed victualer by the name of 
Martha Huggins. 



Just after I had settled myself, the 
flower of chivalry came in and ordered 
ale. I was disconcerted at being found in 
a dramshop alone, for I thought, after the 
bag episode, he might fancy us a family 
of inebriates. But he did n't evince the 
slightest astonishment ; he merely lifted 
his hat, and walked out after he had 
finished his ale. He certainly has the 
loveliest manners, and his hair is a more 
beautiful color every time I see him. 

And so it goes on, and we never get 
any further. I like his politeness and his 
evident feeling that I can't be flirted and 
talked with like a forward boarding-school 
miss ; but I must say I don't think much 
of his ingenuity. Of course one can't 
have all the virtues, but if I were he, I 
would part with my distinguished air, my 
charming ease — in fact, almost anything, 
if I could have in exchange a few grains 


*^/ -zvas disconcerted at being found 
in a dramshop alone^^ 


of common-sense, just enough to guide me 
in the practical affairs of life. 

I wonder what he is? He might be 
an artist, but he does n't seem quite like 
an artist; or just a dilettante, but he 
does n't look in the least like a dilettante. 
Or he might be an architect. I think that 
is the most probable guess of all. Perhaps 
he is only "going to be" one of these 
things, for he can't be more than twenty- 
five or twenty-six. Still, he looks as if 
he were something already ; that is, he has 
a kind of self-reliance in his mien — not 
self-assertion, nor self-esteem, but belief in 
self, as if he were able, and knew that he 
was able, to conquer circumstances. 

Aunt Celia would n't stay at Ye Olde 
Bell and Horns here. She looked under 
the bed (which, I insist, was an unfair 
test), and ordered her luggage to be taken 
instantly to the Grand Pump Room Hotel. 



Memoranda : Bath became distinguished 
for its architecture and popular as a fashion- 
able resort in the 17th century from the 
deserved repute of its waters and through 
the genius of two men^ Wood the architect 
and Beau Nashy Master of Ceremonies. 
A true picture of the society of the period is 
found in Smollett's ^''Humphrey Clinker^' 
which Aunt Celia says she will read and 
tell me about ^ at least as much as is neces- 
sary. Remember the window of the seven 
lights in the Abbey Churchy the one with 
the angels ascending and descending ; also 
the rich Perp. chantry of Prior Bird, S. of 
chancel. It is Murray who calls it a Perp. 
chantry^ not I. 





Bath, June 8. 

IT was very wet this morning, and I had 
breakfast in my room. The maid's 
name is Hetty Precious, and I could eat 
almost anything brought me by such a 
beautifully named person. A little parcel 
postmarked Bath was on my tray, but as 
the address was printed, I have no clue 
to the sender. It was a wee copy of Jane 
Austen's " Persuasion," which I have read 
before, but was glad to see again, because 
I had forgotten that the scene is partly laid 
in Bath, and now I can follow dear Anne 
and vain Sir Walter, hateful Elizabeth 
and scheming Mrs. Clay through Camden 
Place and Bath Street, Union Street, Mil- 
som Street, and the Pump Yard. I can 
even follow them to the site of the White 
Hart Hotel, where the adorable Captain 


Wentworth wrote the letter to Anne. 
After more than two hundred pages of 
suspense, with what joy and relief did I 
read that letter ! I wonder if Anne her- 
self was any more excited than I ! 

At first I thought Roderick Abbott sent 
the book, until I remembered that his 
literary taste is " Puck " in America and 
" Pick-me-up " and " Tit-Bits " in England ; 
and now I don't know what to think. I 
tumed to Captain Wentworth's letter in 
the last chapter but one — oh, it is a 
beautiful letter! I only wish somebody 
would write me that he is "half agony, 
half hope," and that I " pierce his soul." 
Of course, it would be wicked to pierce 
a soul, and of course they would n't write 
that way nowadays; but there is some- 
thing perfectly delightful about the ex- 

Well, when I found the place, what do 
you suppose ? Some of the sentences in 



the letter seem to be underlined ever so 
faintly; so faintly, indeed, that I cannot 
quite decide whether it 's my imagination 
or a lead-pencil, but this is the way the 
page seems to look : — 

"I can listen no longer in silence. I 
must speak to you by such means as are 
within my reach. You pierce my soul. I 
am half agony, half hope. Tell me not 
that I am too late, that such precious feel- 
ings are gone forever. I offer myself to 
you again with a heart even more your 
own than when you almost broke it, eight 
years and a half ago. Dare not say that 
man forgets sooner than woman, that his 
love has an earlier death. I have loved 
none but you. Unjust I may have been, 
weak and resentful I have been, but never 
inconstant. You alone have brought me 
to Bath. For you alone I think and 
plan. Have you not seen this ? Can you 
fail to have understood my wishes ? I had 


not waited even these ten days, could I 
have read your feelings, as I think you 
must have penetrated mine. I can hardly 
write. I am every instant hearing some- 
thing which overpowers me. You sink 
your voice, but I can distinguish the tones 
of that voice when they would be lost on 
others. Too good, too excellent creature ! 
You do us justice indeed ! You do believe 
that there is true attachment and constancy 
among men. Believe it to be most fervent, 

most undeviating, in 

" F. W." 

Of course, this means nothing. Some- 
body has been reading the book, and 
marked it idly as he (or she) read. I can 
imagine some one's underlining a splendid 
sentiment like "Dare not say that man 
forgets sooner than woman!" but why 
should a reader lay stress on such a simple 
sentence as "You alone brought me to 




Gloucester, June lo. 

The Golden Slipper. 

NOTHING accomplished yet. Her 
aunt is a Van Tyck, and a stiff 
one, too. I am a Copley, and that delays 
matters. Much depends upon the man- 
ner of approach. A false move would be 
fatal. We have seven more towns (as per 
itinerary), and if their thirst for cathedrals 
isn't slaked when these are finished, we 
have the entire Continent to do. If I 
could only succeed in making an impres- 
sion on the retina of Aunt Celia's eye ! 
Though I have been under her feet for 
ten days, she never yet has observed me. 
This absent-mindedness of hers serves me 
ill now, but it may prove a blessing later 



I made two modest moves on the chess- 
board of Fate yesterday, but they were so 
very modest and mysterious that I almost 
fear they were never noticed. 




Gloucester, June lo. 
In Impossible Lodgings chosen by Me. 

SOMETHING else awfully exciting 
has happened. 

When we walked down the railway 
platform at Bath, I saw a pink placard 
pasted on the window of a first-class car- 
riage. It had " VAN TYCK. RESERVED," Writ- 
ten on it, after the English fashion, and we 
took our places without question. Pre- 
sently Aunt Celia's eyes and mine alighted 
at the same moment on a bunch of yellow 
primroses pinned on the stuffed back of 
the most comfortable seat next the win- 

" They do things so well in England," 
said Aunt Celia admiringly. " The land- 
lord must have sent my name to the guard 


— you see the advantage of stopping at 
the best hotels, Katharine — but one would 
not have suspected him capable of such a 
refined attention as the bunch of flowers. 
You must take a few of them, dear ; you 
are so fond of primroses." 

Oh! I am having a delicious time 
abroad ! I do think England is the most 
interesting country in the world ; and as 
for the cathedral towns, how can any one 
bear to live anywhere else ? It is late for 
primroses ; where did he (the landlord, I 
mean) get them ? 




Oxford, June 12. 

The Mitre. 

IT was here in Oxford that a grain of 
common-sense entered the brain of the 
flower of chivalry. You might call it the 
dawn of reason. We had spent part of 
the morning in High Street, " the noblest 
old street in England," as our dear Haw- 
thorne calls it. As Wordsworth had writ- 
ten a sonnet about it. Aunt Celia was 
armed for the fray, a volume of Words- 
worth in one hand, and one of Hawthorne 
in the other. (I wish Baedeker and Mur- 
ray did n't give such full information about 
what one ought to read before one can 
approach these places in a proper spirit.) 
When we had done High Street, we went 
to Magdalen College, and sat down on a 


bench in Addison's Walk, where Aunt 
Celia proceeded to store my mind with 
the principal facts of Addison's career, and 
his influence on the literature of the some- 
thing or other century. The cramming 
process over, we wandered along, and came 
upon "him" sketching a shady comer of 
the walk. 

Aunt Celia went up behind him, and. 
Van Tyck though she is, she could not 
restrain her admiration of his work. I 
was surprised myself; I did n't suppose so 
good-looking a youth could do such good 
work. I retired to a safe distance, and 
they chatted together. He offered her the 
sketch ; she refused to take advantage of 
his kindness. He said he would " dash 
off" another that evening and bring it to 
our hotel — " so glad to do anything for a 
fellow-countryman," etc. I peeped from 
behind a tree and saw him give her his 
card. It was an awful moment ; I trem- 


bled, but she read it with unmistakable 
approval, and gave him her own with an 
expression that meant, " Yours is good, 
but beat that if you can ! " 

She called to me, and I appeared. Mr. 
John Quincy Copley, Cambridge, was pre- 
sented to her niece. Miss Katharine Schuy- 
ler, New York. It was over, and a very 
small thing to take so long about, too. 

He is an architect, and, of course, has a 
smooth path into Aunt Celia's affections. 
Theological students, ministers, mission- 
aries, heroes, and martyrs she may distrust, 
but architects never ! 

" He is an architect, my dear Katharine, 
and he is a Copley," she told me after- 
wards. " I never knew a Copley who was 
not respectable, and many of them have 
been more." 

After the introduction was over. Aunt 
Celia asked him guilelessly if he had vis- 
ited any other of the English cathedrals. 


Any others, indeed ! — this to a youth who 
had been all but in her lap for a fortnight. 
It was a blow, but he rallied bravely, and, 
with an amused look in my direction, re- 
plied discreetly that he had visited most 
of them at one time or another. I refused 
to let him see that I had ever noticed him 
before — that is, particularly. 

I wish I had had an opportunity of talk- 
ing to him of our plans, but just as I was 
leading the conversation into the proper 
channels, the waiter came in for breakfast 
orders — as if it mattered what one had for 
breakfast, or whether one had any at all. 
I can understand an interest in dinner or 
even in luncheon, but not in breakfast ; at 
least not when more important things are 
under consideration. 

Memoranda : " T^he very stones and mor- 
tar of this historic town seem impregnated 
with the spirit of restful antiquity. (Ex- 


tract from one of Aunt Celia's letters.) 
Among the great men who have studied here 
are the Prince of Wales ^ Duke of Welling- 
tony Gladstone, Sir Robert Peel, Sir Philip 
Sidney y William Penn, John Locke, the two 
Wesley s, Ruskin^ Ben Jonson, and Thomas 
Otway. (Look Otway up.) 




Oxford, June 13. 

The Angel. 

I HAVE done it, and if I had n't been 
a fool and a coward I might have 
done it a week ago, and spared myself a 
good deal of delicious torment. " How 
sweet must be Love's self possessed, when 
but Love's shadows are so rich in joy ! " 
or something of that sort. 

I have just given two hours to a sketch 
of Addison's Walk, and carried it to Aunt 
Celia at the Mitre. Object, to find out 
whether they make a long stay in London 
(our next point), and, if so, where. It 
seems they stop only a night. I said in 
the course of conversation : — 

" So Miss Schuyler is willing to forego a 
London season ? Marvelous self-denial ! " 


" My niece did not come to Europe for 
a London season," replied Miss Van Tyck. 
" We go through London this time merely 
as a cathedral town, simply because it 
chances to be where it is, geographically. 
We shall visit St. Paul's and Westminster 
Abbey, and then go directly on, that our 
chain of impressions may have absolute 
continuity and be free from any disturbing 

Oh, but she is lovely, is Aunt Celia ! 
London a cathedral town ! 

Now, for my own part, I should like to 
drop St. Paul's for once, and omit West- 
minster Abbey for the moment, and sit 
on the top of a 'bus with Miss Schuyler 
or in a hansom jogging up and down Pic- 
cadilly. The hansom should have bou- 
quets of paper-flowers in the windows, the 
horse should wear carnations in his head- 
stall, and Miss Schuyler should ask me 
questions to which I should always know 


the right answers. This would be but a 
prelude, for I should wish later to ask her 
questions to which I should hope she 
would also know the right answers. 

Heigho ! I did n't suppose that anything 
could be lovelier than that girl's smile, but 
there is, and it is her voice. 

I shall call there again to-morrow morn- 
ing. I don't know on what pretext, but 
I shall call, for my visit was curtailed this 
evening by the entrance of the waiter, who 
asked what they would have for break- 
fast. Miss Van Tyck said she would be 
disengaged in a moment^ so naturally I 
departed, with a longing to knock the 
impudent waiter's head against the un- 
comprehending wall. Breakfast indeed! 
A fellow can breakfast regularly, and yet 
be in a starving condition. 




Oxford, June 14. 

The Angel. 

I HAVE just called. They have gone ! 
Gone hours before they intended I 
How shall I find her in London ? 




London, June 15. 
Walsingham House Hotel. 

AS a cathedral town London leaves 
much to be desired. There are too 
many hotels, too many people, and the 
distances are too great. For ten hours I 
kept a hansom galloping between St. 
Paul's and Westminster Abbey, with no 
result. I am now going to Ely, where I 
shall stay in the cathedral from morning 
till night, and have my meals brought to 
me on a tray by the verger. 




Ely, June 15. 
At Miss Kettlestring's lodgings. 

1HAVE lost him ! He was not at St. 
Paul's or Westminster in London — 
great, cruel, busy, brutal London, that 
could swallow up any precious thing and 
make no sign. And he is not here ! They 
say it is a very fine cathedral. 

Memoranda : The Octagon is perhaps 
the most beautiful and original design to be 
found in the whole range of Gothic archi- 
tecture. Remember^ also^ the retro-choir. 
The lower tier of windows consists of three 
long lancets^ with groups of Purbeck shafts 
at the angles; the upper ^ of five lancets^ 
diminishing from the centre^ and set back^ 
as in the clerestory ^ within an arcade sup- 
ported by shafts. (I don't believe even he 


could make head or tail of this.) Re- 
member the curious bosses under the brackets 
of the stone altar in the Alcock Chapel. 
They represent ammonites projecting from 
their shells and biting each other. (If I 
were an ammonite I know I should bite 
Aunt Celia, Look up ammonite.) 




Ely, June i8. 

The Lamb Hotel. 

I CANNOT find her ! Am racked with 
rheumatic pains sitting in this big, 
empty, sohtary, hollow, reverberating, 
damp, desolate, deserted cathedral hour 
after hour. On to Peterborough this 




Peterborough, June i8. 

HE is not here. The cathedral, even 
the celebrated west front, seems to 
me somewhat overrated. Catherine of Ar- 
agon (or one of those Henry the Eighth 
wives) is buried here, also Mary Queen 
of Scots ; but I am tired of looking at 
graves, viciously tired, too, of writing in 
this trumpery note-book. We move on 
this afternoon. 




Peterborough, June 19. 

A FEW more days of this modem 
Love Chase will unfit me for pro- 
fessional work. Tried to draw the roof of 
the choir, a good specimen of early Perp., 
and failed. Studied the itinerary again to 
see if it had any unsuspected suggestions 
in cipher. No go ! York and Durham 
were double-starred by Aunt Celia's curate 
as places for long stops. Perhaps we shall 
meet again there, if not at Lincoln. 




Lincoln, June 22. 
The Black Boy Inn. 

1AM Stopping at a beastly little hole, 
which has the one merit of being op- 
posite Miss Schuyler's lodgings, for I have 
found her at last. My sketch-book has 
deteriorated in artistic value during the 
last two weeks. Many of its pages, while 
interesting to me as reminiscences, will 
hardly do for family or studio exhibition. 
If I should label them, the result would 
be something like this : — 

1. Sketch of a footstool and desk where 
I first saw Miss Schuyler kneeling. 

2. Sketch of a carved-oak chair, Miss 
Schuyler sitting in it. 

3. "Angel choir." Heads of Miss 
Schuyler introduced into the carving. 



4. Altar screen. A row of full-length 
Miss Schuylers holding lilies. 

5. Tomb of a bishop, where I tied Miss 
Schuyler's shoe. 

6. Tomb of another bishop, where I had 
to tie it again because I did it so badly the 
first time. 

7. Sketch of the shoe, the shoe-lace 
worn out with much tying. 

8. Sketch of the blessed verger who 
called her " Madam " when we were walk- 
ing together. 

9. Sketch of her blush when he did it ; 
the prettiest thing in the world. 

10. Sketch of J. Q. Copley contem- 
plating the ruins of his heart. 

^' How are the mighty fallen ! " 




Lincoln, June 23. 
At Miss Smallpage's, Castle Garden. 

THIS is one of the charmingest towns 
we have visited, and I am so glad 
Aunt Celia has a letter to the Canon in 
residence, because it may keep her con- 

We walked up Steep Hill this moming 
to see the Jews' House, but long before we 
reached it I had seen Mr. Copley sitting 
on a camp-stool, with his easel in front of 
him. Wonderful to relate. Aunt Celia 
recognized him, and was most cordial in 
her greeting. As for me, I was never so 
embarrassed in my life. I felt as if he 
knew that I had expected to see him 
in London and Ely and Peterborough, 
though, of course, he could nt know it, 


even if he looked for, and missed me in 
those three dreary and over-estimated 
places. He had made a most beautiful 
drawing of the Jews' House, and com- 
pleted his conquest of Aunt Celia by pre- 
senting it to her. I should like to know 
when my turn is coming ; but, anyway, she 
asked him to luncheon, and he came, and 
we had such a cosy, homelike meal to- 
gether. He is even nicer than he looks, 
which is saying a good deal more than I 
should, even to a locked book. Aunt 
Celia dozed a little after luncheon, and 
Mr. Copley almost talked in whispers, he 
was so afraid of disturbing her nap. It 
is just in these trifling things that one 
can tell a true man — courtesy to elderly 
people and consideration for their weak- 
nesses. He has done something in the 
world; I was sure that he had. He has 
a little income of his own, but he is too 
proud and ambitious to be an idler. He 


looked so manly when he talked about it, 
standing up straight and strong in his 
knickerbockers. I like men in knicker- 
bockers. Aunt Celia does n't. She says 
she doesn't see how a well-brought-up 
Copley can go about with his legs in that 
condition. I would give worlds to know 
how Aunt Celia ever unbent sufficiently 
to get engaged. But, as I was saying, 
Mr. Copley has accomplished something, 
young as he is. He has built three pic- 
turesque suburban churches suitable for 
weddings, and a state lunatic asylum. 

Aunt Celia says we shall have no worthy 
architecture imtil every building is made 
an exquisitely sincere representation of its 
deepest purpose — a symbol, as it were, 
of its indwelhng meaning. I should 
think it would be very difficult to design 
a lunatic asylum on that basis, but I did n't 
dare say so, as the idea seemed to present 
no incongruities to Mr. Copley. Their 


conversation is absolutely sublimated when 
they get to talking of architecture. I have 
just copied two quotations from Emerson, 
and am studying them every night for fif- 
teen minutes before I go to sleep. I 'm 
going to quote them some time offhand, 
just after matins, when we are wandering 
about the cathedral grounds. The first is 
this : " The Gothic cathedral is a blossom- 
ing in stone, subdued by the insatiable de- 
mand of harmony in man. The mountain 
of granite blooms into an etemal flower, 
with the lightness and delicate finish as 
well as the aerial proportion and perspec- 
tive of vegetable beauty." Then when he 
has recovered from the shock of this, here 
is my second : " Nor can any lover of na- 
ture enter the old piles of English cathe- 
drals without feeling that the forest over- 
powered the mind of the builder, and that 
his chisel, his saw, and plane still repro- 



duced its ferns, its spikes of flowers, its 
locust, elm, pine, and spruce." 

Memoranda: Lincoln choir is an example 
of Early English or First Pointed^ which 
can generally be told from something else by 
bold projecting buttresses and dog-tooth 
moulding round the abacusses. (The plural 
is my own, and it does not look right.) 
Lincoln Castle was the scene of many pro- 
longed sieges^ and was once taken by Oliver 




York, June 26. 

The Black Swan. 

KITTY SCHUYLER is the concen- 
trated essence of feminine witchery. 
Intuition strong, logic weak, and the two 
qualities so balanced as to produce an 
indefinable charm; will-power large, but 
docility equal, if a man is clever enough 
to know how to manage her ; knowledge 
of facts absolutely nil^ but she is exqui- 
sitely intelligent in spite of it. She has 
a way of evading, escaping, eluding, and 
then gives you an intoxicating hint of 
sudden and complete surrender. She is 
divinely innocent, but roguishness saves 
her from insipidity. Her looks? She 
looks as you would imagine a person 
might look who possessed these graces; 


and she is worth looking at, though every 
time I do it I have a rush of love to the 
head. When you find a girl who com- 
bines all the qualities you have imagined 
in the ideal, and who has added a dozen 
or two on her own account merely to dis- 
tract you past all hope, why stand up and 
try to resist her charm ? Down on your 
knees like a man, say I ! 

I 'm getting to adore Aunt Celia. I 
didn't care for her at first, but she is so 
deliciously blind. Anything more ex- 
quisitely unserviceable as a chaperon I 
can't imagine. Absorbed in antiquity, she 
ignores the babble of contemporaneous 
lovers. That any man could look at Kitty 
when he could look at a cathedral passes 
her comprehension. I do not presume 
too greatly on her absent-mindedness, 
however, lest she should turn unexpectedly 
and rend me. I always remember that 

She ignores the babble 

of contemporaneous lowers 


inscription on the backs of the little me- 
chanical French toys : " Quoiqu'elle soit 
tres solidement montee, il faut ne pas 
brutaliser la machine." 

And so my courtship progresses under 
Aunt Celia's very nose. I say " pro- 
gresses ; " but it is impossible to speak 
with any certainty of courting, for the 
essence of that gentle craft is hope, rooted 
in labor and trained by love. 

I set out to propose to her during 
service this afternoon by writing my feel- 
ings on the flyleaf of the hymn-book, or 
something like that; but I knew that 
Aunt Celia would never forgive such 
blasphemy, and I thought that Kitty her- 
self might consider it wicked. Besides, if 
she should chance to accept me, there was 
nothing I could do in a cathedral to relieve 
my feelings. No ; if she ever accepts me, 
I wish it to be in a large, vacant spot of 
the universe, peopled by two only, and 


those two so indistinguishably blended, as 
it were, that they would appear as one to 
the casual observer. So I practiced re- 
pression, though the wall of my reserve is 
worn to the thinness of thread-paper, and 
I tried to keep my mind on the droning 
minor canon, and not to look at her, " for 
that way madness lies." 




York, June 28. 

High Petergate Street. 

MY taste is so bad ! I just begin to 
realize it, and I am feeling my 
" growing pains," like Gwendolen in 
"Daniel Deronda." I admired the stained 
glass in the Lincoln Cathedral the other 
day, especially the Nuremberg window. 
I thought Mr. Copley looked pained, but 
he said nothing. When I went to my 
room, I consulted a book and found that 
all the glass in that cathedral is very mod- 
ern and very bad, and the Nuremberg 
window is the worst of all. Aunt Celia 
says she hopes that it will be a waming 
to me to read before I speak ; but Mr. 
Copley says no, that the world would lose 
more in one way than it would gain in 


the other. I tried my quotations this 
morning, and stuck fast in the middle of 
the first. 

Mr. Copley thinks I have been feeing 
the vergers too liberally, so I wrote a song 
about it called " The Ballad of the Ver- 
gers and the Foolish Virgin," which I sang 
to my guitar. Mr. Copley thinks it is 
cleverer than anything he ever did with 
his pencil. Of course, he says that only 
to be agreeable ; but really, whenever he 
talks to me in that way, I can almost hear 
myself purring with pleasure. 

We go to two services a day in the 
Minster, and sometimes I sit quite alone in 
the nave drinking in the music as it floats 
out from behind the choir-screen. The 
Litany and the Commandments are so 
beautiful heard in this way, and I never 
listen to the fresh, young voices chanting 
'' Write all these Thy laws in our hearts, 
we beseech Thee," without wanting pas- 


sionately to be good. I love, too, the 
joyful burst of music in the Te Deum : 
" Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven 
to all believers." I like that word " all ; " 
it takes in foolish me, as well as wise Aunt 

And yet, with all its pomp and magnifi- 
cence, the service does not help me quite 
so much nor stir up the deep places in me 
so quickly as dear old Dr. Kyle's simpler 
prayers and talks in the village meeting- 
house where I went as a child. Mr. Cop- 
ley has seen it often, and made a little pic- 
ture of it for me, with its white steeple and 
the elm-tree branches hanging over it. If 
I ever have a husband I should wish him 
to have memories like my own. It would 
be very romantic to marry an Italian mar- 
quis or a Hungarian count, but must it 
not be a comfort to two people to look 
back on the same past ? 



We all went to an evening service last 
night. It was an " occasion," and a famous 
organist played the Minster organ. 

I wonder why choir-boys are so often 
playful and fidgety and uncanonical in be- 
havior ? Does the choir-master advertise 
" Naughty boys preferred," or do musical 
voices commonly exist in unregenerate 
bodies ? With all the opportunities that 
they must have outside of the cathedral to 
exchange those objects of beauty and util- 
ity usually found in boys' pockets, there is 
seldom a service where they do not barter 
penknives, old coins, or tops, generally 
during the Old Testament reading. A 
dozen little black-surpliced " probationers " 
sit together in a seat just beneath the choir- 
boys, and one of them spent his time this 
evening in trying to pull a loose tooth from 
its socket. The task not only engaged all 
his own powers, but made him the centre 



of attraction for the whole probationary 

Coming home, Aunt Celia walked ahead 
with Mrs. Benedict, who keeps turning up 
at the most unexpected moments. She 's 
going to build a Gothicky memorial chapel 
somewhere, and is making studies for it. 
I don't like her in the least, but four is cer- 
tainly a more comfortable number than 
three. I scarcely ever have a moment 
alone with Mr. Copley, for, go where I will 
and do what I please. Aunt Celia has the 
most perfect confidence in my indiscre- 
tion, and is always en Evidence. 

Just as we were turning into the quiet 
little street where we are lodging, I said : 

"Oh dear, I wish that I really knew 
something about architecture ! " 

" If you don't know anything about it, 
you are certainly responsible for a good 
deal of it," said Mr. Copley. 

" I ? How do you mean ? " I asked 


quite innocently, because I couldn't see 
how he could twist such a remark as that 
into anything like sentiment. 

" I have never built so many castles in 
my life as since I 've known you, Miss 
Schuyler," he said. 

" Oh," I answered as lightly as I could, 
" air-castles don't count." 

" The building of air-castles is an inno- 
cent amusement enough, I suppose," he 
said; "but I'm committing the folly of 
living in mine. I " — 

Then I was frightened. When, all at 
once, you find you have something pre- 
cious that you only dimly suspected was to 
be yours, you almost wish it had n't come 
so soon. But just at that moment Mrs. 
Benedict called to us, and came tramping 
back from the gate, and hooked her super- 
cilious, patronizing arm in Mr. Copley's, 
and asked him into the sitting-room to talk 
over the " lady-chapel " in her new memo- 


rial church. Then Aunt Celia told me 
they would excuse me, as I had had a 
wearisome day ; and there was nothing for 
me to do but to go to bed, like a snubbed 
child, and wonder if I should ever know 
the end of that sentence. And I listened 
at the head of the stairs, shivering, but all 
that I could hear was that Mrs. Benedict 
asked Mr. Copley to be her own architect. 
Her architect, indeed ! That woman ought 
not to be at large — so rich and good-look- 
ing and unconscientious and grasping ! 




^ HE 

York, July 5. 
HAD just established myself comfort- 
ably near to Miss Van Tyck's hotel, 
and found a landlady after my own heart 
in Mrs. Pickles, No. 6, Micklegate, when 
Miss Van Tyck, aided and abetted, I fear, 
by the romantic Miss Schuyler, elected to 
change her quarters, and I, of course, had 
to change too. Mine is at present a labo- 
rious (but not unpleasant) life. The causes 
of Miss Schuyler's removal, as I have been 
given to understand by the lady herself, 
were some particularly pleasing window- 
boxes in a lodging in High Petergate 
Street; boxes overflowing with pink ge- 
raniums and white field-daisies. No one 
(she explains) could have looked at this 
house without desiring to live in it ; and 



when she discovered, during a somewhat 
exhaustive study of the premises, that the 
maid's name was Susan Strangeways, and 
that she was promised in marriage to a 
brewer's apprentice called Sowerbutt, she 
went back to her conventional hotel and 
persuaded her aunt to remove without de- 
lay. If Miss Schuyler were offered a room 
at the Punchbowl Inn in the Gillygate and 
a suite at the Grand Royal Hotel in Broad 
Street, she would choose the former un- 
hesitatingly ; just as she refused refresh- 
ment at the best caterer's this afternoon and 
dragged Mrs. Benedict and me into " The 
Little Snug," where an alluring sign over 
the door announced " A Homely Cup of 
Tea for Twopence." But she would out- 
grow all that ; or, if she did n't, I have 
common-sense enough for two; or, if I 
had n't, I should n't care a hang. 

Is it not a curious dispensation of Provi- 
dence that, just when Aunt Celia is con- 


fined to her room with a cold, Mrs. Bene- 
dict should join our party and spend her 
days in our company ? She drove to the 
Merchants' Hall and the Cavalry Barracks 
with us, she walked on the city walls with 
us, she even dared the "homely" tea at 
" The Little Snug ; " and at that moment 
I determined I would n't build her me- 
morial church for her, even at a most 
princely profit. 

On crossing Lendal Bridge we saw the 
river Ouse running placidly through the 
town, and a lot of little green boats moored 
at a landing-stage. 

" How delightful it would be to row for 
an hour ! " exclaimed Miss Schuyler. 

"Oh, do you think so, in those tippy 
boats on a strange river?" remonstrated 
Mrs. Benedict. 

The moment I suspected she was afraid 
of the water, I lured her to the landing- 
stage and engaged a boat. 


" It 's a pity that that large flat one has 
a leak, otherwise it would have held three 
nicely ; but I dare say we can be comfort- 
able in one of the little ones," I said 

" Shan't we be too heavy for it ? " Mrs. 
Benedict inquired timidly. 

" Oh, I don't think so. We '11 get in 
and try it. If we find it sinks too far 
below the water-line under our weight, 
we won't risk it," I replied, spurred on by 
such twinkles in Miss Schuyler's eyes as 
blinded me to everything else. 

" I really don't think your aunt would 
like you to venture, Miss Schuyler," said 
the Marplot. 

" Oh, as to that, she knows I am accus- 
tomed to boating," replied Miss Schuyler. 

" And Miss Schuyler is such an excel- 
lent swimmer," I added. 

Whereupon the Marplot and Killjoy 
and Gooseberry and Disturber of the 


Peace remarked that if it were a question 
of swimming she should prefer to remain 
at home, as she had large responsibilities 
devolving upon her, and her life was in 
a sense not her own to fling away as she 
might like. 

I assured her solemnly that she was 
quite, quite right, and pushed off before 
she could change her mind. 

After a long interval of silence. Miss 
Schuyler observed in the voice, accom- 
panied by the smile and the glance of the 
eye, that " did " for me the moment I was 
first exposed to them : — 

" You ought n't to have said that about 
my swimming, because I can't a bit, you 

" I was justified," I answered gloomily. 
"I have home too much to-day, and if 
she had come with us and had fallen over- 
board, I might have been tempted to hold 
her down with the oar." 


Whereupon Miss Schuyler gave way to 
such whole-hearted mirth that she nearly 
upset the boat. I almost wish she had ! 
I want to swim, sink, die, or do any other 
mortal thing for her. 

We had a heavenly hour. It was only 
an hour, but it was the first time I have 
had any real chance to direct hot shot at 
the walls of the maiden castle. I regret 
to state that they stood remarkably firm. 
Of course, I don't wish to batter them 
down; I want them to melt gradually 
under the warmth of my attack. 




York, July 5. 

WE had a lovely sail on the river 
Ouse this afternoon. Mrs. Bene- 
dict was timid about boating, and did not 
come with us. As a usual thing, I hate 
a cowardly woman, but her lack of cour- 
age is the nicest trait in her whole charac- 
ter ; I might almost say the only nice trait. 

Mr. Copley tried in every way, short of 
asking me a direct question, to find out 
whether I had received the marked copy 
of " Persuasion " in Bath, but I evaded 
the point. 

Just as we were at the door of my 
lodging, and he was saying good-by, I 
could n't resist the temptation of asking : — 

" Why, before you knew us at all, did 
you put *Miss Van Tyck: Reserved,* 


on the window of the railway carriage at 

He was embarrassed for a moment, and 
then he said : — 

" Well, she is, you know, if you come 
to that; and, besides, I didn't dare tell 
the guard the placard I really wanted to 
put on." 

"I shouldn't think a lack of daring 
your most obvious fault," I said cuttingly. 

"Perhaps not; but there are limits to 
most things, and I had n't the pluck to 
paste on a pink paper with 'Miss Schuy- 
ler : Engaged,' on it" 

He disappeared suddenly just then, as 
if he were n't equal to facing my displea- 
sure, and I am glad he did, for I was too 
embarrassed for words. 

Memoranda: In the height of roofs y 
navey and choir ^ York is first of English 




Durham, July something or other. 
At Farmer Hendry's. 

WE left York this morning, and ar- 
rived in Durham about eleven 
o'clock. It seems there is some sort of an 
election going on in the town, and there 
was not a single fly at the station. Mr. 
Copley looked about in every direction, 
but neither horse nor vehicle was to be 
had for love or money. At last we 
started to walk to the village, Mr. Copley 
so laden with our hand-luggage that he 
resembled a pack mule. 

We called first at the Three Tuns, 
where they still keep up the old custom 
of giving a wee glass of cherry-brandy to 
each guest on his arrival ; but, alas ! they 
were crowded, and we were turned from 


the hospitable door. We then made a 
tour of the inns, but not a single room 
was to be had, not for that night, nor for 
two days ahead, on account of that same 

" Had n't we better go on to Edinburgh, 
Aunt Celia ? " I asked, as we were resting 
in the door of the Jolly Sailor. 

"Edinburgh? Never!" she replied. 
" Do you suppose that I would volunta- 
rily spend a Sunday in those bare Presby- 
terian churches until the memory of these 
past ideal weeks has faded a little from my 
memory ? What ! leave out Durham and 
spoil the set ? " (In her agitation and dis- 
appointment she spoke of the cathedrals 
as if they were souvenir spoons.) " I in- 
tended to stay here for a week or more, and 
write up a record of our entire trip from 
Winchester while the impressions were 
fresh in my mind." 

" And I had intended doing the same 


thing," said Mr. Copley. "That is, I 
hoped to finish off my previous sketches, 
which are in a frightful state of incomple- 
tion, and spend a good deal of time on the 
interior of this cathedral, which is unusu- 
ally beautiful." 

At this juncture Aunt Celia disappeared 
for a moment to ask the barmaid if, in her 
opinion, the constant consumption of malt 
liquors prevents a more dangerous indul- 
gence in brandy and whiskey. She is 
gathering statistics, but as the barmaids 
can never collect their thoughts while they 
are drawing ale. Aunt Celia proceeds 

" For my part," said I, with mock hu- 
mility, " I am a docile person, who never 
has any intentions of her own, but who 
yields herself sweetly to the intentions of 
other people in her immediate vicinity." 

" Are you ? " asked Mr. Copley, taking 
out his pencil. 



" Yes, I said so. What are you doing ? " 

" Merely taking note of your statement, 
that's all. Now, Miss Van Tyck (of 
course. Aunt Celia appeared at this de- 
lightful moment), I have a plan to pro- 
pose. I was here last summer with a 
couple of Harvard men, and we lodged at 
a farmhouse about a mile distant from the 
cathedral. If you will step into the coffee- 
room for an hour, I '11 walk up to Farmer 
Hendry's and see if they will take us in. 
I think we might be fairly comfortable." 

" Can Aunt Celia have Apollinaris and 
black coffee after her morning bath ? " I 

"I hope, Katharine," said Aunt Celia 
majestically — "I hope that I can accom- 
modate myself to circumstances. If Mr. 
Copley can secure apartments for us, I 
shall be more than grateful." 

So here we are, all lodging together in 
an ideal English farmhouse. There is a 


thatched roof on one of the old buildings, 
and the dairy-house is covered with ivy, 
and Farmer Hendry's wife makes a real 
English curtsey, and there are herds of 
beautiful sleek Durham cattle, and the but- 
ter and cream and eggs and mutton are 
delicious, and I never, never want to go 
home any more. I want to live here for- 
ever and wave the American flag on Wash- 
ington's birthday. 

I am so happy that I feel as if something 
were going to spoil it all. Twenty years 
old to-day ! I wish mamma were alive to 
wish me many happy returns. 

The cathedral is very beautiful in itself, 
and its situation is beyond all words of 
mine to describe. I greatly admired the 
pulpit, which is supported by five pillars 
sunk into the backs of squashed lions ; but 
Mr. Copley, when I asked him the period, 
said, " Pure Brummagem ! " 

There is a nice old cell for refractory 


monks, that we agreed will be a lovely 
place for Mrs. Benedict if we can lose her 
in it. She arrives, as soon as they can 
find room for her at the Three Tuns. 

Memoranda : Casual remark for 
breakfast-table or perhaps for luncheon — 
it is a trifle heavy for breakfast: ''Since 
the sixteenth century^ and despite the work 
of Inigo Jones and the great Wren (not 
Jenny Wren : Christopher), architecture 
has had^ in England especially^ no legitimate 
development'^ This is the only cathedral 
with a Bishop's Throne or a Sanctuary 



^TiAjT: iM &^ ^ jTtst,- 


Durham, July 19. 

O CHILD of fortune, thy name is 
J. Q. Copley ! How did it happen 
to be election time ? Why did the inns 
chance to be full ? How did Aunt Celia 
relax sufficiently to allow me to find her a 
lodging ? Why did she fall in love with 
the lodging when found ? I do not know. 
I only know Fate smiles ; that Kitty and 
I eat our morning bacon and eggs to- 
gether ; that I carve Kitty's cold beef and 
pour Kitty's sparkling ale at luncheon, 
that I go to matins with Kitty, and dine 
with Kitty, and walk in the gloaming with 
Kitty — and Aunt Celia. And after a day 
of heaven like this, like Lorna Doone's 
lover — aye, and like every other lover, I 
suppose — I go to sleep, and the roof 


above me swarms with angels, having 
Kitty under it. 

She was so beautiful on Sunday. She 
has been wearing her favorite browns and 
yellows through the week, but on Sun- 
day she blossomed into blue and white, 
topped by a wonderful hat, whose brim 
was laden with hyacinths. She sat at the 
end of a seat in the nave, and there was a 
capped and gowned crowd of university 
students in the transept. I watched them 
and they watched her. She has the fullest, 
whitest eyelids, and the loveliest lashes. 
When she looks down I wish she might 
never look up, and when she looks up I 
am never ready for her to look down. If 
it had been a secular occasion, and she had 
dropped her handkerchief, seven-eighths of 
the students would have started to pick it 
up — but I should have got there first I 
Well, all this is but a useless prelude, for 



there are facts to be considered — deli- 
cious, warm, breathing facts ! 

We were coming home from evensong, 
Kitty and I. (I am anticipating, for she 
was still "Miss Schuyler" then, but never 
mind.) We were walking through the 
fields, while Mrs. Benedict and Aunt Celia 
were driving. As we came across a corner 
of the bit of meadow land that joins the 
stable and the garden, we heard a muffled 
roar, and as we looked around we saw a 
creature with tossing horns and waving 
tail making for us, head down, eyes flash- 
ing. Kitty gave a shriek. We chanced 
to be near a pair of low bars. I had n't 
been a college athlete for nothing. I 
swung Kitty over the bars, and jumped 
after her. But she, not knowing in her 
fright where she was nor what she was 
doing, supposing also that the mad crea- 
ture, like the villain in the play, would 
"still pursue her," flung herself bodily 


''Jack! Jack! Sa've me!'' 


into my arms, crying, " Jack ! Jack ! save 

It was the first time she had called me 
"Jack," and I needed no second invita- 
tion. I proceeded to save her, in the usual 
way, by holding her to my heart and 
kissing her lovely hair reassuringly as I 
murmured : — 

"You are safe, my darling; not a hair 
of your precious head shall be hurt. Don't 
be frightened." 

She shivered like a leaf. 

"I am frightened," she said; "I can't 
help being frightened. He will chase us, 
I know. Where is he? What is he 
doing now ? " 

Looking up to determine if I need ab- 
breviate this blissful moment, I saw the 
enraged animal disappearing in the side- 
door of the bam ; and it was a nice, com- 
fortable Durham cow, that somewhat rare 
but possible thing — a sportive cow. 


" Is he gone ? " breatiied Kitty from my 

" Yes, he is gone — she is gone, darling. 
But don't move ; it may come again." 

My first too hasty assurance had calmed 
Kitt}^'s fears, and she raised her charming 
flushed face from its retreat and prepared 
to withdraw. I did not facilitate the pre- 
parations, and a moment of awkward 
silence ensued. 

" Might I inquire," I asked, " if the dear 
little person at present reposing in my 
arms will stay there (with intervals for 
rest and refreshment) for the rest of her 
natural life?" 

She withdrew entirely now, all but her 
hand, and her eyes sought the ground. 

" I suppose I shall have to — that is, 
if you think — at least, I suppose you do 
think — at any rate, you look as if you 
were thinking — that this has been giving 
you encouragement." 


" I do indeed — decisive, undoubted, 
barefaced encouragement." 

'' I don't think I ought to be judged as 
if I were in my sober senses," she replied. 
" I was frightened within an inch of my 
life. I told you this morning that I was 
dreadfully afraid of bulls, especially mad 
ones, and I told you that my nurse fright- 
ened me, when I was a child, with awful 
stories about them, and that I never out- 
grew my childish terror. I looked every- 
where about. The barn was too far, the 
fence too high; I saw him coming, and 
there was nothing but you and the open 
country. Of course I took you. It was 
very natural, I 'm sure ; any girl would 
have done it." 

" To be sure," I replied soothingly, 
" any girl would have run after me, as you 

" I did n't say any girl would have run 
^ after you — you needn't flatter yourself; 
/ 97 


and besides, I think I was really trying to 
protect you as well as to gain protection, 
else why should I have cast myself on you 
like a catamount, or a catacomb, or what- 
ever the thing is ? " 

"Yes, darling, I thank you for saving 
my life, and I am willing to devote the 
remainder of it to your service as a pledge 
of my gratitude ; but if you should take 
up life-saving as a profession, dear, don't 
throw yourself on a fellow with " — 

" Jack ! Jack ! " she cried, putting her 
hand over my lips, and getting it well 
kissed in consequence. " If you will only 
forget that, and never, never taunt me 
with it afterwards, I'll — I '11 — well, I '11 
do anything in reason — yes, even marry 
you ! " 




Canterbury, July 31. 
The Royal Fountain. 

I WAS never sure enough of Kitty, at 
first, to dare risk telling her about that 
little mistake of hers. She is such an elu- 
sive person that I spend all my time in 
wooing her, and can never lay flattering 
unction to my soul that she is really won. 

But after Aunt Celia had looked up my 
family record and given a provisional con- 
sent, and Papa Schuyler had cabled a re- 
luctant blessing, I did not feel capable of 
any further self-restraint 

It was twilight here in Canterbury, and 

we were sitting on the vine-shaded veranda 

of Aunt Celia's lodging. Kitty's head was 

on my shoulder. There is something very 



queer about that; when Kitty's head is on 
my shoulder, I am not capable of any con- 
secutive train of thought. When she puts 
it there I see stars, then myriads of stars, 
then, oh ! I can't begin to enumerate the 
steps by which ecstasy mounts to de- 
lirium ; but, at all events, any operation 
which demands exclusive use of the intel- 
lect is beyond me at these times. Still, I 
gathered my stray wits together, and said : 


"Yes, Jack?" 

" Now that nothing but death or mar- 
riage can separate us, I have something to 
confess to you." 

" Yes," she said serenely, " I know what 
you are going to say. He was a cow." 

I lifted her head from my shoulder 
sternly, and gazed into her childlike, can- 
did eyes. 

" You mountain of deceit ! How long 
have you known about it?" 



" Ever since the first. Oh, Jack, stop 
looking at me in that way ! Not the very- 
first, not when I — not when you — not 
when we — no, not then, but the next 
morning, I said to Farmer Hendry, 'I 
wish you would keep your savage bull 
chained up while we are here ; Aunt Celia 
is awfully afi-aid of them, especially those 
that go mad, like yours ! ' ' Lor', miss I ' 
said Farmer Hendry, 'he haven't been 
pastured here for three weeks. I keep him 
six mile away. There ben't nothing but 
gentle cows in the home medder.' But I 
did n't tliink that you knew, you secretive 
person ! I dare say you planned the whole 
thing in advance, in order to take advan- 
tage of my fright ! " 

"Never I I am incapable of such an un- 
necessary subterfuge ! Besides, Kitty, I 
could not have made an accomplice of a 
cow, you know." 

"Then," she said, with great dignity, 



" if you had been a gentleman and a man 
of honor, you would have cried, ' Unhand 
me, girl ! You are clinging to me under 
a misunderstanding ! ' " 




Chester, August 8. 

The Grosvenor. 

JACK and I are going over this same 
ground next summer on our wedding 
journey. We shall sail for home next 
week, and we have n't half done justice 
to the cathedrals. After the first two, we 
saw nothing but each other on a general 
background of architecture. I hope my 
mind is improved, but oh, I am so hazy 
about all the facts I have read since I knew 
Jack ! Winchester and Salisbury stand 
out superbly in my memory. They ac- 
quired their ground before it was occupied 
with other matters. I shall never forget, 
for instance, that Winchester has the long- 
est spire and Salisbury the highest nave 
of all the English cathedrals. And I shall 


never forget so long as I live that Jane 
Austen and Isaac Newt — Oh dear ! was 
it Isaac Newton or Izaak Walton that 
was buried in Winchester and Salisbury ? 
To think that that interesting fact should 
have slipped from my mind, after all the 
trouble I took with it ! But I know that 
it was Isaac somebody, and that he was 
buried in — well, he was buried in one of 
those two places. I am not certain which, 
but I can ask Jack ; he is sure to know. 



(^6e iHiterj^itie ^xt^^ 

Eltctrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &* Co, 
Cambridge i Mass.^ U. S. A.